


Thou Canker in the Bud of Youth

by coricomile



Category: Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things he would do to keep Miguel safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Canker in the Bud of Youth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladymordecai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladymordecai/gifts).



The cabin is small and broken, but so are they. The roof leaks and Tulio has repaired the door three separate times this month alone, but the damned thing still creaks and wobbles off its hinges any time the air gets so much as damp. 

Miguel is sick more often than not, his thin, tiny body shivering under the covers they've scavenged from a half dozen different places. He is barely eleven years old, and Tulio often wonders if he will see twenty, or eighteen, or even twelve. It scares him all the way down to his bones. 

"I feel fine," Miguel tells him, even as he coughs into his elbow. His thin shoulders shake under the shirts Tulio has stuffed him into. There are dark circles of sweat under his arms and at the small of his back. Tulio checks the inside of his elbow for blood like he does every time, and the lift of relief when he finds none makes his head feel dizzy. 

He has seen consumption work through people he has loved before. It is not a kind disease, and he would rather give his left arm than see Miguel suffer it. There are many things he would do to keep Miguel safe. 

"Lay down," Miguel says, nothing more than a whisper through his cracked lips and his raw throat. Tulip reaches for the jug of rainwater and forces him to sip it. Thin, clear streams run down Miguel's chin and onto his shirt, where it joins the dampness of his sweat. 

"I need to get food," Tulio says, even as he toes off his shoes. They've gotten too small and pinch at his feet when he walks. Over the past year he has grown tall, even as Miguel as grown wide. Both of them are as thin as bones. 

"I will only throw it up again," Miguel says. He wraps his arms around Tulio's waist, pressing his face against Tulio's chest. His skin is feverish, hot enough to feel through cotton. 

"You ungrateful wretch," Tulio says. There is a lump in his throat that makes breathing difficult. 

"That I am," Miguel says. 

Tulio holds him tight through the night, brushing his sweaty hair from his face and trying to soothe his chills with hands too cold to do him any real justice. His heart beats hard enough for them both. 

\---

Tulio's lip is split. It aches, cracking open just that much wider every time he opens his mouth to speak or eat. The bread Miguel hands him, barely more than a handful of hard crust, aggravates the wound and makes it bleed. 

"You need to be more careful," Miguel says. His voice creaks when he speaks, the newly deep sound of it going back to the childhood he's only barely escaped. 

At a bristling young fifteen, he has mostly begun to fill out his wide shoulders. He eats everything Tulio finds for him, and Tulio often hands over half of his own meal to him. The hunger Tulio feels is worth it for the smiles Miguel gives him. 

"Thanks for that," Tulio says dryly. His lip aches. He rips off a chunk of bread and tucks it into his cheek. "I'll remember that the next time some guy clocks me. Real a plus advice there."

"You know what I meant," Miguel says. 

He tucks a bit of hair behind his ear and it immediately falls back into his face. Just the night before, Tulio had chopped off two inches with dulled scissors scavenged from a dumpster. The ends are uneven, but it looks better now than it did before. 

Tulio eats his crust in silence.

After, Miguel cleans his face with a dampened rag and presses tender kisses to the sore, swollen side of Tulio's left eye. His lips ghost across Tulio's. It is promise and sorrow and Tulio’s heart aches. 

"You don't need to get yourself hurt because of me," he says, smiling wide and sweet. 

Tulio touches a scar on Miguel's wrist, barely an inch across, and does not reply. 

\---

"Stop smiling like that," Tulio says, slapping the back of Miguel's hand. Miguel's lips turn down at the corners before immediately turning up again. "You're hopeless."

"Liar," Miguel says, flattening his hand of cards on the scarred, ugly table. Their cabin, just as broken as ever, almost feels like a real home some days. "Look at this hand. It's magnificent."

"The beating you get when you're found out for cheating will be just as magnificent," Tulio says. He takes the cards and shuffles them again, smoothing his fingers over the worn, beaten sides of the deck. "You can't _smile_ in cards."

"Or ever," Miguel sighs. He sits topless, sweating in the heat of the summer sun filtering in through the window. Tulio keeps getting lost in the way his golden skin shimmers, the way the fresh hair on his chest catches the light. He is seventeen and beautiful. 

"You wanted in on the cons," Tulio says. He deals them each seven cards, tucking one up into his sleeve automatically. His shirt sticks to his skin and so does the card. "Rule one-"

"Don't show your hand," Miguel sighs. "You're no _fun_ , Tulio."

Miguel leans over the table, cards sticking to his chest, and wraps his fingers around Tulio's wrist. His hand has grown almost larger than Tulio's, and it's strange. 

Miguel kisses him, sweet and smiling. Tulio cups the curve of his cheek, holds onto a lock of thin, golden hair. It's unhealthy how they live. Underfed and terrified and full of sin. Tulio pulls away and peels the Jack of hearts from Miguel's collarbone. 

Should he turn Miguel loose, Tulio thinks, he might be able to find a better life. Surely, someone else would be able to see his light, his goodness, and save him. It’s less than he deserves.

Instead, he pulls Miguel to him, over the shoddy table and into his lap. Miguel laughs, the sound like bells. His skin is warm, feverish, under Tulio’s hands, slick with sweat and just a little dirty. 

This once, Tulio will be selfish.


End file.
